( it's over far too quickly, unrolling in hazy flashes like lightning through smoke: zhongli pumping deep, and the velvet-soft yield of childe's throat around his cock, swallowing what he's given. he's too eager, choking as his throat reflexively squeezes around the hot inrush of cock and cum, and pulls back only to spit what he can't take on zhongli's cock, near the cup of his palm where he grips him again, stripped down over him in rough, twisting strokes.
obscene and crude, a messy act meant for a back alley fuck and not here, of all places, a palace lovingly crafted in gold and marble. childe mourns the loss of zhongli's cock as he pulls back, soft and wet from his warm mouth, devastatingly undone. in the following silence, every small sound echoes: childe's choppy breaths, reverberating through the golden house like an exposed pulse.
he eases his knuckled grip between his thighs and lifts his chin to stare up at zhongli. vertigo and a sudden shuddering influx of oxygen cuts him into a wobbly, backwards arch, and he braces a steadying hand on the floor, thighs spread into a sprawling v. )
Not nearly. ( each syllable catches on a throaty rasp, frayed and fucked-out.
instinct kicks in before the rest of his brain, indexing every sensation and visual detail and physical vulnerability with razor-sharp efficiency. his jaw clicks as he closes his mouth, pleasantly sore. the twin crescents bit into zhongli's collar, flushed red, and the silky spill of his gorgeous hair over his shoulders. he can still taste zhongli on his tongue and the back of his throat.
and he's still hard. painfully, miserably hard.
he rolls his weight from his knees to his toes, unwinding toward zhongli as he stands and presses him flush against the pillar. he knots a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back for his mouth and probing tongue, kissing him deep and brief. )
I want you to fuck me. ( hot and wound-up as he is, his demand is more pleading than challenging, breathily sighed over zhongli's mouth. he fits his cock against his hip and ruts once, again, needy. ) Somewhere. Anywhere. I don't care.
no subject
obscene and crude, a messy act meant for a back alley fuck and not here, of all places, a palace lovingly crafted in gold and marble. childe mourns the loss of zhongli's cock as he pulls back, soft and wet from his warm mouth, devastatingly undone. in the following silence, every small sound echoes: childe's choppy breaths, reverberating through the golden house like an exposed pulse.
he eases his knuckled grip between his thighs and lifts his chin to stare up at zhongli. vertigo and a sudden shuddering influx of oxygen cuts him into a wobbly, backwards arch, and he braces a steadying hand on the floor, thighs spread into a sprawling v. )
Not nearly. ( each syllable catches on a throaty rasp, frayed and fucked-out.
instinct kicks in before the rest of his brain, indexing every sensation and visual detail and physical vulnerability with razor-sharp efficiency. his jaw clicks as he closes his mouth, pleasantly sore. the twin crescents bit into zhongli's collar, flushed red, and the silky spill of his gorgeous hair over his shoulders. he can still taste zhongli on his tongue and the back of his throat.
and he's still hard. painfully, miserably hard.
he rolls his weight from his knees to his toes, unwinding toward zhongli as he stands and presses him flush against the pillar. he knots a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back for his mouth and probing tongue, kissing him deep and brief. )
I want you to fuck me. ( hot and wound-up as he is, his demand is more pleading than challenging, breathily sighed over zhongli's mouth. he fits his cock against his hip and ruts once, again, needy. ) Somewhere. Anywhere. I don't care.